


Chains and Cinder Blocks

by Applesauce_666



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesauce_666/pseuds/Applesauce_666
Summary: They were safe; they had their phone, they were listening to music. There was absolutely no reason for them to be feeling anything but fine. They didn't feel fine.





	Chains and Cinder Blocks

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: anxiety, sort of anxiety attacks, and suicidal thoughts (please tell me if I missed any) Please don't read this fic if you think it could put you in a dangerous it unstable state if mind, or if it could cause harm to you in any way.  
> I'm just writing this to vent, and because I need to practice writing. Anyways, sorry if it's not very good. Please remember, this is based off my own personal experience with having an anxiety disorder (professionally diagnosed), and may not be the same as your experiences with it, if you have any. Please feel free to comment if you'd like, and I would really appreciate it if you gave some suggestions on how to improve my writing skills. The character isn't meant to be anyone rly, they're basically just someone for me to project onto.

    They were laying down in their bed. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. They were safe; they had their phone, they were listening to music. There was absolutely no reason for them to be feeling anything but fine. They didn't feel fine. They didn't feel safe. Nothing felt okay.

    They weren't okay, as they gripped at the sides of their ribs to feel them rise and fall, desperate for the reassurance that their lungs still worked.       

    They weren't okay, as their pulse hammered in their ears, and their arms tightened around their chest, trying to replace the feeling of chains constricting around them with the pressure of a hug.

    They wanted to reach inside of their body and grab their heart, squeezing at a constant, slow rhythm until it was working properly again, until it's beats weren't too close together and too far apart at the same time. Until they were okay. They'd seen it done in Grey's anatomy on multiple occasions, doctors reaching into someone's open chest and massaging the muscle until it decided it was ready to beat on it's own, until the heart monitor was beeping steadily.

    For a second, they entertained the idea. They desperately wanted to try, but they didn't dare move their hands an inch, fearing the chains would tighten further if their arms ceased their comforting pressure. Instead, they focused on the beat of the music playing in their headphones, trying to get their heart to mimic it.

    They pictured the videos they saw on Instagram of circles that got bigger as you inhaled and smaller as you exhaled. The cinder blocks sitting on their chest didn't get lighter, the chain around their lungs and the tight coil in their stomach didn't loosen, they didn't feel better. They didn't feel worse either.

    They stayed like that, laying in bed, trying to clear their head and _breathe_  for nearly an hour before their emotional and physical exhaustion worked together to help them slip into the bliss of unconsciousness.

    When they woke up, they felt a little better. They let their arms loosen around their ribs slowly and cautiously, ready to return to their original state at a moment's notice should the chains and cinder blocks make a reappearance. When nothing happened, they released their arms completely, left with nothing but a dull ache in their muscles and what was left of the ball of anxiety sitting heavy and dangerous in their stomach.

    They grabbed their phone and scrolled through Instagram until the ball had loosened further, until it wasn't so close to bursting open and swallowing them whole for the second time that day.

    When they no longer felt like there was live ammunition inside of them, they allowed their tense muscles to uncoil, relaxing for the first time in hours for a reason other than sleep.

    There was still a pit in their stomach, growing bigger with each day, steadily devouring them, killing them. But right now, it was less, and they would take what they could get.

    They went into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle before taking their math binder from their backpack, intent on finishing their homework.

    As they sat on their bed, papers scattered around them, they felt their eyes burn and a different pressure than before build in their esophagus. They felt drops of water fall on to their shaking hands and checked that their door was closed and locked before allowing themself to break down.

    They stared at numbers that were blurried from tears, watched the world around them convulse as their body was wracked with silent sobs.

    It was too much. Everything was too much for them and they hated it. They hated themself. They were so tired of being overwhelmed by everything, of being unable to do simple tasks that most people didn't even have to think about.

    They were exhausted. They wanted it all to stop. They wanted to be able to order in a restaurant without rehearsing it in their head dozens of times for every possible scenario. They wanted to be able to go outside alone, without someone they trusted by their side every second of the way. They wanted to be able to live their life, to eat in public without wondering being too aware of how loud they were chewing to enjoy the food.

    They wanted to want to live. But they didn't. Everyone said that it gets better, but it's only gotten worse so far. They didn't want to kill themself in shame and embarrassment for making a joke that nobody found funny a couple of years ago. They didn't have to dig their nails into the calluses on their palms to reassure themself that everything around them was real, that _they_ were real, a couple of years ago. Nothing has gotten better.

    It didn't matter whether or not it got better. All that mattered was finishing the study guide for the math quiz tomorrow.

    They took a deep breath of blue in, allowing the calming color to infect their lungs and poison their bloodstream before letting it out, exhaling the color red, letting go of all the toxic feelings they harbored inside of them.

    They focused on the numbers and letters that made up problem one, and furrowed their brow as they tried to make sense of it.

    Math used to be easy, an exact science that helped them calm down, helped them feel in control and **okay** when they found the answer. It wasn't anymore. Now it was jumbled sentences that they weren't sure they would ever understand, imaginary numbers and contradictions that were _wrong,_ that weren't what math was supposed to be. There weren't always answers anymore, and it made them angry. They hated it. But it didn't matter. What _did_ matter was getting good grades. So they looked up the things they didn't understand, and spent several hours finishing what they'd promised themself they'd do the day before so they could have a full night's sleep before school.

    The second they finished, they collapsed onto their bed and shimmied under the covers, desperately hoping that their mind would allow them to just sleep. It was all they wanted at his point. To sleep and never wake up.

     Their request wasn't granted. It started out small, small enough that they could ignore it and continue their attempts at giving their brain a break. But it kept getting bigger, until it was all they could hear.

_Did you lock the door?_ **_Yes._ **

_Are you sure?_ **_Yes._ **

_Are you absolutely positive?_ **_Yes!_ **

_If you're wrong and a murderer comes into the house, it'll be your fault. Let's try this again: are you SURE you locked the door._ **_YES, I'm ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE._ **

_You should double check. It won't do any harm._ **_Yes it will, it'll wake me up._ **

_That seems like a small price to pay for safety from a serial killer._ **_Even if I didn't lock it, a serial killer isn't going to come in._ **

_So you admit that you aren't sure it's locked?_

**_NO! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!? IT. IS._ ** **LOCKED!**

_Fine. But did you turn off the stove?_ **_I didn't even use it today._ **

_But what if Mom forgot to turn it off?_ **_She was out of town._ **

_Okay. Did you close the fridge?_ **_Yes._ **

_Are you sure?_ **_Yes. It'd be beeping if I didn't._ **

_What if you just don't hear it?_ **_I would have._ **

_Did you leave the lights on?_ **_No._ **

 

    Their thoughts continued to swirl around, repeating and repeating an argument they'd never win. Eventually, they relented and got up to double check everything. When they got back and resumed their attempts at sleeping, the argument started up again.

 

_You need to check everything again._ **_Why?_ **

_You were sleepy, you could have missed something or made a mistake._ **_I didn't. Please just let me sleep._ **

_Okay, but double check first._

 

    They double checked and returned to their bed. The whispers of uncertainty restarted and they curled up in a ball, resolutely ignoring them. They didn't remember falling asleep, but the next time they woke up, their alarm was blaring shrilly in their ear. They grabbed their phone and turned it off, checking the time before groaning and getting up to shower. They didn't feel better. They didn't think they ever would. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting good grades and staying in their teachers good graces. If it got to be too much, they could always kill themself. With a mirthless laugh and a bitter smile, they stepped in the shower and set about getting ready. The only thing that seemed to reassure them lately was that if they ever really needed it, there was always an out. The only thing left to do was use it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, please leave kudos if you did (I'm a whore for approval ig) and comment if you'd like. Please let me know if I made any spelling or grammar mistakes, I didn't rly read over it too many times.


End file.
